Under Hosni Mubarak, Egypt’s Coptic Christians (who make up an estimated 12 per cent of the population) often complained of discrimination. They could not build or renovate churches without a presidential decree, never reached high positions in the army or police and were rarely appointed to senior government positions. Christians also had to settle for token representation in government and parliament (there were just two Christian ministers in the last cabinet before Mubarak was toppled).

In the last decade before Mubarak’s ousting, sectarian tensions flared sporadically in Egypt and those responsible for acts of violence against Copts were rarely brought to justice. Many Egyptians believe that a New Year’s Eve church bombing in Alexandria that left 21 people dead (mostly Christian worshippers who had been attending New Year’s Eve mass), fuelled the anger that led to the January 2011 revolt that erupted a few weeks later.

Egypt’s Coptic Christians were among the hundreds of thousands of protesters in Tahrir Square in January 2011 demanding their rights as equal citizens. The rise of Islamists to power in Egypt post-revolution has raised concern among Christians that they could face further marginalisation and harassment.

During the presidential campaign, Muslim Brotherhood candidate Mohamed Morsi had promised to be “a leader for all Egyptians.” He also vowed to appoint a Coptic-Christian Vice President and to “protect the rights of minorities.” But those promises have all fallen flat.

A February demonstration in Tahrir Square against the Muslim Brotherhood

Last November, after violent clashes between Islamists and opposition protesters outside the Ittihadeya Presidential Palace over a Constitutional Declaration giving him absolute powers, Morsi addressed a rally organized by his Islamist supporters , accusing his opponents of being”‘paid thugs”. That appearance outside the palace earned Morsi criticism from liberal opposition parties and Christians who said that he had shown that he was the “President of the Islamists, rather than the elected leader of all Egyptians.”

Morsi has also reneged on his promise to appoint a Christian Vice President, appointing instead a Christian presidential aide — Samir Morcos — (the sole Christian out of a total of 21 presidential assistants) who resigned a few months later in protest at Morsi’s controversial decree. Morcos later said that the President had not consulted him before making the decision.

Egypt’s Christians also complain that Morsi has also done little to protect them against extremists’ threats..

Churches have continued to be torched and death threats by extremists have forced many Christians to flee their homes and at times — their villages — en masse. In the past year alone, Christians have been forcibly evacuated from the Alexandria district of Amreya and from Dahshour, a village 40 kms south of Cairo following sectarian tensions in their neighborhoods.

More recently, Christian families in the North Sinai border town of Rafah have had to flee to neighboring towns after receiving death threats from extremists. In October 2011, 27 Coptic Christians were killed by military and security forces during a protest staged outside the State Television building in downtown Cairo by Christians demanding government protection for their churches. Video footage of what has since come to be known as the “Maspero Massacre” showed Armoured Personnel Carriers running over protesters and live ammunition being used against them. Most of the victims died of gun-shot wounds .

Almost a year and a half later, no-one has been held responsible for the deaths. Instead, two Copts — Michael Naguib and Michael Shaker — have been convicted for their involvement in the violence after being charged with stealing a machine gun from the military and causing damage to public property. They have each been sentenced to three years in prison.

A new Islamist-backed constitution passed in a popular referendum in December 2012 has fueled fears of further alienation of Egypt’s religious minorities. Rights advocates say the new charter “restricts freedom of belief by limiting the right to practice one’s religion to the adherents of Abrahamic religions, thus discriminating against citizens on the basis of religion and undermining equal citizenship.”

Meanwhile, Article 2, stipulating that “the principles of Islamic Sharia Law are the main source of legislation” has remained unchanged from the previous Constitution, dashing hopes for a secular state aspired to by liberal opposition forces and Christians during the uprising. The only change in that provision is that Al Azhar — the highest authority in Sunni Islam — has now been tasked with interpreting those principles, a decision that critics say “indoctrinates a specific religious school of thought.”

Furthermore, liberals and Christians have expressed concern that an article which provides that “the state and society oversee the commitment to the genuine character of the Egyptan family ” may open the door for enforcement of a hardline vision of society by morality police. While the provision has had little impact in the past, Christians and liberal activists fear it may take on a new meaning under the Islamist regime. And last but not least, an article that guarantees freedom of expression and opinion has been undercut by other provisions that prohibit defamation and insults of people and prophets. Critics say both such articles restrict free expression as well as personal and religious freedom.

Indeed, media hate speech targeting Coptic Christians in recent weeks has confirmed Christians’ worst fears. Radical Salafi preachers appearing on independent religious channels have increasingly criticised Christians and incited violence against them. Islamist cleric Ahmed Abdalla (popularly known as Abu Islam) who burnt a Bible during a protest sparked by anger over the anti- Islam film “Innocence of Muslims ” last year, faces detention after being charged with “contempt of religion” — a crime punishable by up to three years imprisonment in Egypt. A Coptic Christian lawyer had earlier filed a lawsuit against Abu Islam, accusing him of calling Christian women protesters “whores” on his TV talk show. Abu Islam had earlier stirred controversy by justifying rape and sexual assault against women who join the Tahrir protests saying that they go there because “they want to get raped.” Coptic lawyer Naguib Gabriel demanded that Abu Islam be prosecuted, adding that “Copts are bitter over the absence of justice in cases involving Christians.”

Seven Coptic Christians have been sentenced to death in absentia for their role in the anti-Islam film that sparked protests across the Muslim World last year. In October 2012, two Coptic children aged 10 and 9 were arrested and detained on charges of insulting Islam after they ripped pages from the Qur’an.

While the country’s new constitution grants Christians, Jews and Sunni Muslims the right to “worship freely”, that same right is not afforded to other religious minorities in the country — such as Baha’is — who are banned from building places of worship.

For decades, Egypt’s estimated 4,000 Baha’is have been kept on the margins. The current discriminatory policies against them are a carry over from successive regimes. Unrecognised by the state, Baha’is were in the past, unable to obtain national ID cards (which allow holders to vote, buy and sell property and open bank accounts.) That changed in 2008 when a Cairo Court granted Bahais the right to issue Identification documents — albeit without stating their religion on the cards. All IDs of Baha’is are marked with a dash, thus distinguishing them from followers of the three officially recognised faiths (Islam, Christianity and Judaism). While the IDs have given Bahais certain rights (allowing them to issue other documents like birth, marriage and divorce certificates and enabling them to vote), they’ve also contributed to deepening the discrimination and stigma associated with the yet-unrecognised faith.

“I’ve heard stories of Bahais who’ve been rounded up and detained for nothing more than their faith,” said Somaya Ramadan, an Egyptian academic and award-winning writer who follows the Baha’i faith. She recalled that armed security forces had stormed the home of a Baha’i family in Tanta some years ago and arrested a Baha’i woman in the middle of the night , leaving her young children unattended. Like many followers of her faith, Ramadan is worried that Islamist rule in Egypt could lead to an upsurge in religious intolerance against members of her community and subsequently, restrict their freedom of expression, religion and assembly.

Recent statements by Education Ministry officials advocating that “Bahai children may have difficulty enrolling in government schools in future because the constitution only recognises the three Abrahamic faiths,” have confirmed Bahais’ worst fears.

“The January 2011 Revolution raised our hopes for justice, equality and freedom but now, we feel let down,” Ramadan told Index .

“The current government favours Muslims over people of other faiths. This attitude can only reinforce hypocrisy, encouraging people to lie about their religious beliefs. Islamising the society will only deepen the sectarian divisions in the country — The disenfranchisement of Bahais and other religious minorities must end.”

Still, she remains hopeful and is confident that change will come.

For that to happen, Egyptians need to take some bold steps to put their country back on a path of reconciliation and compromise — including amending provisions to the constitution that are ambiguous or unpopular with the public. President Morsi has recently appointed a committtee of legal experts and representatives of opposition political parties to discuss amendments to the charter. For the secular opposition activists and religious minorities in Egypt, the talks are a new opportunity to press for a document that truly secures freedom of religious expression and respects human rights — necessary conditions for a viable democracy.

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One year to the day pro-democracy activists held mass protests, and the mood in Tahrir yesterday was one of jubilation and fanfare. Two days earlier, Egypt’s first democratically elected parliament convened for the first time, pledging to work to fulfil the goals of the revolution — including securing justice for the  families of those killed and victims of violence during last year’s mass uprising; a key demand of the revolutionary movements. The Islamist-dominated People’s Assembly, the lower house of the parliament, also made it clear that the military council running Egypt in the transitional period would face close scrutiny from the newly elected lawmakers.

Meanwhile, in an effort to appease a disgruntled public ahead of protests marking the anniversary of the Revolution, the military council announced the release of 1,959 political detainees, most of them pro-democracy activists who had faced military trials . Prominent blogger Maikel Nabil, Egypt’s first prisoner of conscience in the post-revolutionary era, was among the convicts to be set free. The military authority also said it would lift the state of emergency in place since 1981. It added however that the law would continue to apply in cases of ‘thuggery’. Skeptics worry that the exception may be a pretext for continuing arbitrary arrests and detention of civilians without charge, especially as peaceful protesters have been previously described by military generals as “trouble-makers” and “paid agents carrying out foreign agendas.”

Uncertainty about the future failed to dampen the mood in Tahrir Square, as Islamists celebrated the achievements of the past year, relishing their newfound freedom and leadership role. The Muslim Brotherhood — a long time banned group in Egypt won 38 per cent of parliamentary seats for their Freedom and Justice Party in the recent election. The ultra-conservative Salafist Nour Party meanwhile secured 29 per cent of the list seats.

“We voted them in and now they will take care of our demands,” Manal Hassan , a veiled housewife and mother of three said confidently.

It wasn’t until early afternoon when thousands more protesters —  mostly secularists and liberals  — converged on Tahrir after marching through the streets from various focal points in the city — that the mood began to shift from celebratory to rebellious. Seeking a new revolt against military rule, the activists began to chant “Down with military rule!”

“We did not come to Tahrir earlier in the day so as to give the Islamists space to celebrate. But it is too early for us to celebrate. We must continue our struggle. Very few of our goals have been met,” said Amr Taher, a student of commerce. His friends nodded in agreement.

“We have walked all the way from Mostafa Mahmoud in Mohandeseen to make our demands clear. We want the military to handover power to a civilian government now,” said advertising agency employee Amina Mansour, 28.

Many liberals feel that little has changed since Mubarak was toppled and say the old regime is still intact. Listing rights violations including military trials for more than 12,000 civilians in the past year, torture in prisons, virginity checks performed on female protesters and intimidation of journalists. Reem Dawoud, activist and member of the “Kazeboon” campaign, launched “to expose the lies of the ruling military council” noted, “A year on, we are still waiting for a free press and an independent judiciary!”

“El Qassas! El Qassas! Justice for the martyrs and their families! ” shouted an elderly activist from the podium, his cries met with cheers and clapping from the crowd below. Before nightfall, an estimated 150,000 protesters had gathered in the Square, sending a strong message to the military authority that “the fear barrier has been broken” and “the rulers are now accountable to their people for the first time ,” as expressed by some Facebook-users in their posts later in the day.

As Egyptians start their second post-revolution year, they are optimistic about the future. “The power is now in the hands of the people for the first time,” author Alaa Aswani said in a televised interview. Confident in their ability to create change, they know it is a matter of time before the military is pushed back to the barracks and power is transferred to a civilian government. And they are hoping for a faster pace of reforms and successful transition to democracy.

“We went off-course for a while this past year because of lack of unity among liberal movements and their inability to reach consensus on the way forward. But now, we seem to have found our way again and are moving on the right track,” said 35 year-old activist Hazem Mahmoud , with a broad smile on his face.

Journalist and television anchor Shahira Amin resigned her post as deputy head of state-run Nile TV on February 2011

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The celebrated photographer and Pulitzer prize-winner Kaveh Golestan was one of the great defenders of free speech in Iran. He reflects in this essay, first published in 1994, on the fallout of the revolution

My childhood was spent among the wheatfields outside Tehran. My father built a solitary house, far away from the nearest neighbour. I was on my own. Life was the blue sky and the sound of crickets. Then came a television set, and with it, the rest of the world.

My father’s uncle was an ayatollah. On the rare occasions when he graced us with visits, my mother and sister covered themselves with black veils. We also covered the television set with another veil, hiding its presence and turning it into another side table or cupboard. The ayatollah disapproved of television. He said it was evil: it showed women with their hair flowing, men touching women, vice and sin. It also made the Shah and his modernising programmes look good and acceptable. He ended with a concept that was hard for me to understand as a child: TV infiltrated and decayed our Islamic cultural identity and integrity by selling us the values of other cultures and societies. My parents just smiled and offered him tea, and a small room at the back of the house to set up his opium-smoking pipe and paraphernalia. Soon his words and views drifted away and were lost in the thick haze of opium smoke.

Years later, when I had already dedicated myself to communicating with others through images and mass media, the ayatollahs came again; this time they came in force, and to stay. It was the Islamic revolution of Iran, 1979.

The revolution, a natural mass reaction to decades of social, political and economic hardship and repression, made worse by foreign domination, was soon taken over by an Islamic ideology and raw fervour. This was mostly due to a leadership vacuum created by political illiteracy and ignorance among the masses, the result of years of media manipulation and outright censorship – brainwashing – by the Shah’s regime, which had been supported and implemented by his western protectors. As hatred for the Shah’s propaganda machine grew, the revolutionary Islamic leaders became more aware of the media’s power to control people. As soon as the military bases fell to the people’s armed attacks, the Islamic revolutionaries headed for the television and radio stations and newspaper offices. Some of the most dramatic street battles of the revolution took place during these attempts to take over the media in Tehran. By consolidating their power over it, the Islamic revolutionaries monopolised political power. Now grey and moderate bureaucrats, after nearly 15 years they still hold tight control over the media in Iran.

For a nation that had just liberated itself from a long history of repression, freedom of speech was one blessing that should have come out of the revolution. This expectation, this ideal, did not materialise. Within one year of ‘victory’, Iran plunged into one of the darkest periods in its history. The government of the Islamic Republic – threatened, insecure, total amateurs alone in the world of international politics – panicked, and paranoia set in. The defences went up. The grab for more power became fierce and violent. Democratic social institutions were closed down, political parties and trade unions were banned, and the press was taken over by officials sympathetic to the regime. The media, once again, became a tool with which to rule, not to inform or educate.

The heart of the problem was the position of the fundamentalist Islamic state in relation to the people of Iran and the rest of the world. As the Islamists saw it, inside the country, Iranians had to cleanse their hearts and souls from the poisonous corruption of having lived so long under foreign domination. Moral restraints had to be tightened at any cost. Islamic codes were implemented by force. The Islamic state also had many reasons to detest the West and confront it as an enemy: decades of economic plundering and political domination by the brutal militaristic regime of the Shah and the ‘cultural invasion’ of Islamic values from secular, humanistic western philosophies all laid the foundation for the general rejection of the West and all that it stood for. It was time to establish a long lost, pure Islamic identity.

As it had done with the internal media, the Islamic regime tried to rein in and control the international media as well. The easiest way was through restrictions on newsgathering and censorship.

For nearly 15 years now, Iran has been the scene of great social and political upheavals that have changed the history of the region and influenced international politics. Since the explosion of the revolution, Iran has been a major story for the international media. Despite all that has been written and broadcast abroad, there is still a wide gap in the understanding of the true nature of events and the real feelings and thoughts of the Iranian people. The world is still at best apathetic, and at worst ignorant, about the sufferings of Iranians. Why is this? Is this breakdown in human relations due to the impotence of the international media in gathering and communicating news and information about Iran because of the country’s excessive censorship? Or is it due to an ‘imperialist media’, manipulated by the political and super-economic powers that control it? Unfortunately, it seems that the reason is a complex combination of internal and external factors. In Iran, the reality is human suffering, but in actual fact, truth itself is suffering – there is no truth, compassion or human understanding. This can be counted as a miserable failure for all the rhetoric about the role of technology and media in the 20th century in advancing understanding.

A superficial look at the workings of the international media with regards to Iran in the last two decades is enough to indicate the extent of the misrepresentation of the truth: the riots leading to the Islamic revolution took the world by surprise because the international media had failed to correctly relay the repression and poverty suffered by Iranian people during the rule of the Shah. Instead it opted to portray the ‘exotic’ features of Iranian art and culture and glorify the pomposity of the royal family. The rise to power of Islamic ideology during the revolution was not identified or analysed correctly in a social context, thus portraying Iranians as senseless fanatics on the rampage just to gain entry to heaven as martyrs for Islam. The takeover of the US embassy in Tehran was not seen as an expression of independence or liberation from humiliating foreign domination, but as terrorism, which it certainly was not. The horrendous eight-year Iran-Iraq war was regarded as an attempt by Iraq to contain Islamic fundamentalist imperialism in neighbouring Iran. The vast destruction and loss of life brought upon Iran by Iraq was ignored and forgotten. The more than 200 deadly Scud-B missiles fired on Tehran over a period of two months did not attract the attention of the international media as much as the few thrown at Israel during the first Gulf War. The plight of the Kurds, both in Iran and in Iraq, was completely ignored until it was too late and the Kurds had either been ‘chemicalised’ in the worst genocide since the Holocaust, or they became homeless refugees dying in freezing conditions on top of bare mountains. This grim list can go on and on. Truth was not relayed to the world.

Inside Iran, all aspects of the media were controlled by the state, which turned it into a propaganda tool advancing the Islamists’ ideological line, further consolidating their power over the people. Those now in charge were novices, improvising most of the time with disastrous results. Young zealots with no knowledge of journalism ran newspapers, and university students were in charge of television and radio networks, ruled over by clerics straight out of the religious schools. As far as the media was concerned, it was a matter of reinventing the wheel. The fear of losing political power had by now taken over the once-radical revolutionaries and ‘liberators’ who hid behind well-worn excuses such as ‘the integrity and teachings of Islam’. The ultimate result was that, for about a decade, truth was gagged in their throats. This is what usually happens with totalitarian states: first they control the media, thinking they can consolidate power – and they are right. Power is consolidated, but as the media no longer relays the truth, people do not trust it. Power has been separated from the people, and the people are alienated.

The authorities of the Islamic Republic have used every trick inside and outside the book to control the media: various forms of censorship; violent forms of physical intimidation; imaginative practices of character assassination; mudslinging at journalists, writers and intellectuals; and the condoning of secret ‘black gangs’, groups of hooligans demonstrating against and attacking newspaper officers and bookshops.

Again, the truth suffers.

In the coverage and discussion of major events – the war, foreign and internal political affairs, elections, ethnic unrest and uprisings – no expressions of dissent were permitted to be printed or broadcast. Instead, TV screens and newspapers were filled with nothing but praise for and propagation of the official line. Working conditions for journalists were absurd. Despite deficiencies running the country, the authorities were successful in controlling information and fertilising an atmosphere of repression. Out of fright and doubt, self-censorship became the first rule of personal and professional survival. It was as though the state had planted a policing organisation in the brains of Iranian journalists.

One event illustrates the effectiveness of information control. When Ayatollah Khomeini died, Tehran was flooded with hundreds of journalists from all over the world. Millions of Iranians turned out for his funeral procession and burial ceremony in Tehran. All the foreign media took the government-organised bus and helicopter rides to the cemetery; travelling and covering the funeral independently was not permitted. For some obscure reason, the buses never reached their destination, and the journalists were dumped kilometres away from the cemetery, where the emotional fervour of the mourning crowd had reached such a feverish pitch that in the hysterical pushing and shoving to touch the coffin, Khomeini’s shrouded body was tipped out of the coffin – a highly charged, revealing and historic moment. Out of several hundred foreign reporters in Tehran at the time, not a single one was present to witness and record it. The funeral embarrassed the government. It blamed the counter-revolutionary Mojahedin-e Khalq for the disruption, and tried its best to eradicate any memory of it. Live satellite transmission of the funeral was cut off, and the film and photographs taken by the few Iranian journalists who were present were confiscated, with more visits to the offices of newspapers or media groups in the following days by security forces searching for visual documentation of the funeral. After the foreign journalists left Tehran, the minister of Islamic guidance issued a letter to the foreign press department – located within the same ministry – thanking it for its efficient control of the flow of ‘information’ with regard to the funeral.

Despite the total commitment of the authorities to the strict control of the media, reports and images coming out of the country revealed and exposed atrocities and sufferings. These journalistic feats were carried out entirely illegally, and at great risk, by Iranian journalists, simply because they felt the truth had to be shown.The impact of such one-off attempts was always great, and the efforts were recognised and awarded accordingly, although most of the time the responsible individuals remained anonymous. The Pulitzer Prize for photojournalism was awarded to the photographer who recorded the execution of Kurdish insurgents in 1979 – Jahangir Razmi. A photograph of Ayatollah Khomeini’s funeral, showing the ‘censored’ scene, was chosen as Time Life Press Photo of the Year 1989. In both cases, credit was given to the ‘anonymous photographer’.

Working under hazardous conditions and having to confront restrictions have toughened most Iranian journalists, especially those who sell to the international media. A few who could no longer tolerate the situation left Iran and now live in exile throughout the world, still functioning as journalists but cut off from their subject: truth in Iran.

Today, the situation in Iran seems to be undergoing another series of changes. Inside the country, it is suggested that the high ideals of Khomeini’s radical interpretations of Islam are not only unattainable but have so far brought nothing but destruction and paralysis to the body and soul of Iranian society. An almost bankrupt economy after eight years of war with Iraq, a growing mass of disillusioned, poverty-stricken population still grieving millions of deaths, a ruling body divided and factionalised over political, social and religious issues, a terrifying long list of human rights abuses confirmed by international watchdog groups: all contribute to the necessity for change in Iran. At present, after 15 years, people are starting to speak out and demand reforms. The Islamic revolution has lost its momentum, and the once-guiding light and leader of the new militant Islam seems to be going soft.

The authorities in Iran, under pressure from various social forces, are slowly conceding to certain reforms. Three years after the end of the war with Iraq, and with the death of Ayatollah Khomeini and the brutal elimination of the opposition, the authorities have run out of various real or imagined culprits used as excuses to suppress democratic institutions. But the latest premise for repression among the ruling clerics of Iran goes by the name of ‘cultural invasion’. For the fundamentalist factions, any form of dissent or opposition is automatically connected to an international conspiracy: the destruction of the Islamic Republic through the cultural invasion of the country. The authorities who fiercely oppose the values of western culture and ideology grow in number each day. On many occasions, this has created serious arguments and factions among the mullahs, recently spilling onto the streets in the form of demonstrations and violent, confrontational riots, most of the time perpetuated and led by the extreme fundamentalists associated with the Islamic Propagation Organisation, a powerful faction within the ruling elite.

But it seems that despite the ongoing tensions and restrictions, the media has, once again, started to flourish and renew its efforts to push back the limits imposed on freedom of speech.

Throughout this time, an important factor has contributed to the ability of Iranian authorities to continue imposing such harsh restrictions on the media – complete silence from the international community. Not having a platform to voice their grievances and explain their positions has been a disadvantage for those inside Iran who are literally fighting for the basic human right of freedom of expression. Only recently, in December 1991, did Iranian journalists break a 15-year taboo and talk openly about their problems with the Islamic state, in an almost desperate attempt to gain international recognition of their situation. The vehicle for the expose was a 27-minute video produced for South, a magazine programme on Britain’s Channel 4, devoted to creating a link and bridging gaps in the information flow between countries of the north and south.

The video contains interviews with several Iranian journalists explaining the reality of their situation in the face of restrictions imposed on them by the Islamic state. In contrast, and illuminating the position of fundamentalist hardliners, several Islamic writers and journalists also voice their opinions. After the Ministry of Islamic Guidance discovered the contents of the programme, it banned the video and refused permission for the tapes to leave the country. The tapes were smuggled out, and eventually the programme was broadcast. Iranian authorities were confronted with a done deal. There was nothing they could do, short of arresting everyone involved in the making of the programme – an action they could not afford to carry out in front of the world. With one simple move, the limits on liberty were pushed out of the way. Censorship is a breakdown in communication. If, and when, the breakdown is repaired and the lines restructured, censorship evaporates. This surely is the power of the media in creating spaces for freedom of speech and human rights.

Today, with all the advances in media technology, we have more weapons in hand to create, propagate and make constructive use of freedom of speech. But how many of these instruments, and therefore how many possibilities, are in the hands of the people who need them most?

Kaveh Golestan was killed in Iraq in 2003 while on assignment for the BBC. This essay was published in Index on Censorship in 2007

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On 11 February, the Iranian army declared itself ‘neutral’ after guerrillas and rebel troops loyal to Marxist forces overwhelmed the Shah’s loyal guards in street fighting. The leaders of the Islamic movement, who wanted a smooth transfer of power from the previous order, became alarmed and reacted quickly, announcing publicly that they ‘did not want an insurrection’. Everyone was ordered to hand in guns to mosques and religious establishments. The clerics and their civilian allies in Nehzat Azadi (the religious faction of Iran’s national front) moved swiftly into ministries and government offices to stop the revolution — or in their words ‘to bring back order’.

Instead of receiving open trials, former ministers and officials of the Shah’s regime were hanged after short hearings in the religious city of Qom. The atmosphere of terror created by these executions was intended to warn other potential opponents, in particular the left, that the new regime was going to be as ruthless as its predecessor.

The first signs of the kind of society the theocracy envisaged came in early March 1979 when Khomeini issued a decree abolishing the family protection law of the pre-revolutionary era, legislation that had provided some protection to women. A few days later he declared the wearing of hijab compulsory. Since 1938, at least two generations of urban women in Iran had been free to choose or ignore hijab. Secular women organised a major demonstration in opposition to Khomeini’s order in Tehran in March 1979. The demonstration was attacked by Hezbollahis and other Islamic militia. This was the beginning of the religious state’s interference in every aspect of the private lives of the Iranian people: a ban on drinking alcohol was followed by arrest of those attending mixed sex gatherings, and then certain types of music were banned.

The new regime’s first political prisoners were arrested in April 1979, when well-known left-wing activists were incarcerated in the notorious Evin prison. The radical left was forced into hiding, and the central government declared war on national minorities who were not obeying the supreme Shia rulers. The Iranian clergy had never hidden its support for private property, so when peasants in Turkoman Sahra set up collective agriculture, the regime deployed the army and the revolutionary guards to attack them. On 18 August 1979, Khomeini declared jihad, a holy war, against the Kurdish and non-Kurdish organisations fighting with the central government in Kurdistan. It was the beginning of a war that lasted until the late 1980s.

By January 1980, many leftist activists had been arrested in Tehran and other major cities, and summary execution of political prisoners became common practice.

Throughout this period, and until their own demise, the reformist sections of the left — mainly pro-Soviet Stalinists but also sections of the Trotskyist movement — supported and indeed collaborated with the Islamic regime’s repression.

Nothing had prepared Iranians for the mass executions of political prisoners that took place in the early 1980s and in the autumn of 1987.

In the early 1980s, the war in Iraq and threats of military attacks by the United States were used by the Islamic state to proscribe secular and leftist opposition groups, leading to the arrest and imprisonment of large numbers of members and supporters of these organisations. Many political opponents were publicly hanged. At the same time Pasdaran (Revolutionary Guard) and mobile squads of the Bassij militia were deployed to patrol the streets to impose the Islamic dress code and make sure Iranians adhered to Islamic codes of behaviour. This period is seen by many as the time when Iranians began living a double life: ‘pious’ and covered up in public and the exact opposite in private. The middle classes and the rich merely circumvented Islamic codes of conduct by paying official penalties or bribes.

However, as the state tried to impose Islamic behaviour on the rest of the population, the young, both in urban and rural areas, rebelled against religious interference in their private lives, a vibrant opposition that has forced even the leaders of the regime to admit defeat on changing ‘youth culture’.

The second wave of political repression in Iran came at the end of the Iran-Iraq war, with the mass execution of political prisoners. As the war ended, the government killed around 15,000 socialists, communists and members of the Mujahedin who were in prison. This was Khomeini taking his revenge on the Iranian left following Iran’s defeat in the war against Saddam Hussein.

The end of the Iran-Iraq war in 1988 also marked the beginning of the onslaught of neo-liberal capital, albeit with an Islamic face. It was the beginning of a new era, where IMF loans dictated levels of privatisation, where mass unemployment, casualisation and the denial of basic workers’ rights became the order of the day and the contradictory yet cosy coexistence of global capital and Shia Islam became a reality. It saw the introduction of devastating neoliberal economic policies that are as avidly pursued today, under Ahmadinejad’s presidency, as they were during the presidencies of Hashemi Rafsanjani or Mohammad Khatami.

Many of the current political protests in Iran are not that different from protests elsewhere in the world: economic uncertainty, mass unemployment, low wages and contract work has led to strikes, street demonstrations, sit-ins and factory occupations.

The government’s response has been to arrest demonstrators and to ban gatherings and any attempts at formation of trade unions or workers organisations.

Despite all this repression, opposition to both the political rule of the clerical state and its attempts to impose Islamic codes of conduct and dress has grown, especially amongst women and the young generation, both in rural and urban areas. The rebellion of the young has forced leaders of the Islamic Republic to admit failure in changing ‘youth culture’ amongst the majority of the under 30s. The generation born after the revolution has no illusions about political Islam. Their aspirations for a better life, job security and basic human rights are no different from youth elsewhere. However neither the Iranian government nor its opponents in the administrations of the United States or the EU are in a position to address any of these demands.

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